The Nameless Castle eBook

“So soon as you are beyond the French boundary
you may communicate with me in the way we have agreed
upon. Until I hear from you I shall be in a terror
of anxiety. I am sorry I cannot accompany you,
but I am already suspected. You are, as yet,
free from suspicion—­are not yet registered
in the black book!”

“You may trust my skill to evade pursuit,”
said the young man, producing from a secret cupboard
a casket richly ornamented with gold.

“I do not doubt your skill, or your ability
to accomplish the undertaking; but the task is not
a suitable one for so young a man. Have you considered
the fate which awaits you?”

“I have considered everything.”

“You will be buried; and, what is worse, you
will be the keeper of your own prison.”

“I shall be a severe jailer, I promise you,”
with a grim smile responded the young man.

“Jester! You forget your twenty-six years!
And who can tell how long you may be buried alive?”

“Have no fear for me. I do not dread the
task. Those in power now will one day be overthrown.”

“But when the child, who is only twelve years
old now, becomes in three or four years a blooming
maiden—­what then? Already she is fond
of you; then she will love you. You cannot hinder
it; and yet, you will not even dare to dream of returning
her love. Have you thought of this also?”

“I shall look upon myself as the inhabitant
of a different planet,” answered the young man.

“Your hand, my friend! You have undertaken
a noble task—­one that is greater than that
of the captive knight who cut off his own foot, that
his sovereign, who was chained to him, might escape—­”

“Pray say no more about me,” interposed
his companion. “Is the child asleep?”

“This one is; the one in the other room is awake.”

“Then let us go to her and tell her what we
have decided.” He lifted the two-branched
candlestick from the table; his companion carefully
closed the iron doors of the fireplace; then the two
went into the adjoining chamber, leaving the room
they had quitted in darkness.

The elder gentleman had made a mistake: “this”
child was not asleep. She had listened
attentively, half sitting up in bed, to as much of
the conversation as she could hear.

A ray of light penetrated through the keyhole.
The little girl sprang nimbly from the bed, ran to
the door, and peered through the tiny aperture.
Suddenly footsteps came toward the door. When
it opened, however, the little eavesdropper was back
underneath the covers of the bed. The old gentleman
entered the room. He had no candle. He left
the door open, walked noiselessly to the bed, and
drew aside the curtains to see if “this”
child was still asleep. The long-drawn, regular
breathing convinced him. Then he took something
from the chair beside the bed, and went back into
the other room. The object he had taken from the
chair was the faded red shawl in which the stray child
had been wrapped. He did not close the door of
the adjoining chamber, for the candles had been extinguished
and both rooms were now dark.